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[indent][indent][indent][color=gray][sub][right][color=#87c735][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Dungeon -- The City-State of Thorinn, Aetheria[/right][/sub][/color]
[hr]"Why do you let them call you Alex?"

It had been in the third grade. No? Fourth grade. During recess, a sudden question from Mrs. Wynn. He had shrugged. 

[color=#87c735]"I don't know."[/color]

He really didn't know. It just made sense. It was weird to call a Ben a Benjamin, so it was weird to call an Alex an Alexis. But the question had stayed in his mind after that day, like a little seed that kept growing. Or was it a weed? It felt like a weed sometimes. 

[color=#87c735][i]It feels good.[/i][/color] 

That had been the most he could figure out. The question didn't sound important, something his mind put next to the grades on his history tests or his favorite dinosaur. A question with an obvious answer people asked because they like talking. But that didn't feel right. He didn't know a lot of big words, or if it was something that was important in the first place. So his mind had put it away. Adolescence however... had shaken everything around. 

Throughout its spread his body had begun turning into something else, something that was no longer synchronized to his mind. It was a foreign [i]thing[/i] that actively behaved like an enemy, a thing that provoked disgust with every new change and twist that sprouted from the inside. The weeds were blooming now, choking him, controlling him. They had a way of spreading beyond his body too, touching things that were innocuous and covering them in thorns.

[color=gray]"Any cute boys at school?"[/color]

That was dangerous. If he couldn't find a way to deal with that quickly, it would start to grow. And if it grew more, the weeds would cover more things, more questions, more whispers between people when he wasn't in the room. It was impossible to make the sharp parts that poked and prodded go away, but he had to at least try. 

[color=gray]"People are gonna get the wrong idea if you keep cutting your hair that short!"[/color]

He couldn't stop it. He really, really couldn't stop it. That feeling of constricting weeds was growing and suffocating him from the inside out. He had to get rid of them somehow, even in ways he knew just spread them around further, ways that would make the feeling worse for him later on. He had developed a system at least, methods and tricks to ease things. Safe articles of clothing that he could wear. Cosmetics he was comfortable applying. Although it helped, it was like an uphill battle, one he was shoved into nearly every day. 

Then Pariah Online had launched. The game that boasted an avatar generation system attuned to your deepest desires, the one that let him visit beautiful scenery and create whatever he wanted. It was a happy dream he could have in a doll-like, numbed avatar that made the constriction go away, a dream he began to love more than reality itself. 

[center]***[/center]
The messenger was gone, leaving only turmoil in his wake. Alex was... at a complete loss for words. He could only mutter snippets of the man's over and over again. Adrenaline coursed through his weary body and made his legs quake, and his chest rose and fell at an intense rhythm that couldn't find its footing. Was he doubtful? Happy? Scared? He didn't know, [i]couldn't[/i] know under the raw crash of sensations. 

He was going to spend more time in this beautiful dream. But it was different now. It was no longer an avatar, it was [i]his[/i] body. Every bruise, nick, and scratch that hummed in pain with every breath belonged to him and him alone. And as the palms of his hands felt the muscle and bone fit for a man through his equipment, he cracked a small grin. A crooked, wiry, [i]broken[/i] grin. His next words were a whisper, one even he could barely hear.

[color=#87c735]"It feels good."[/color]




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